Page 68 of Thunder's Reckoning
We descended into the lower wing. Damp air clung to the walls, mildew slick under the scent of bleach. A guard waited at the steel door, his rifle at his chest. He didn’t speak. Just unlocked it with a clatter of iron.
Inside, the light was dim, the air heavy with iodine, sweat, and that unmistakable odor of a body not yet healed.
The man in the bed was less than he had been—bandages tight across his chest, one arm bound in a sling, bruises blooming ugly across his ribs and jaw. A battered husk.
But not broken.
Not yet.
My shoes clicked against the stone as I stepped closer. He turned his head slowly, each movement an effort. Recognition sharpened in his eyes. Then came the hate. Then the fear. That old kind of hate, the kind that never dies, only waits for its hour.
I smiled. Cold. Certain.
“I hope you’re feeling better, Drago.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
ZARA WAS SITTINGcross-legged on the floor,a coloring book spread wide, the waxy crayon clutched so tight I half-expected it to snap. She hummed as she worked, her tongue caught between her teeth, her whole body bent over the page like nothing outside the lines existed.
Malik sat beside her, headphones pulled tight, his thumbs tapping steady against the buttons of his handheld. He didn’t talk much, not to anyone but me and Zara, and his shoulder brushed hers every so often like he needed the contact to comfort himself. He stayed close. Like always.
I was wiping down the bathroom counter, rag damp in my hand, when Zeke stepped through the doorway. He filled the space with his usual weight—broad, solid—but there was something different this time. A shift in the air around him. Almost… nerves.
“Are you okay?” I asked, my rag pausing mid-swipe.
He nodded once, his gaze flicking toward the partially open door. “Got someone I want you to meet.”
The rag went still in my grip, water dripping into the sink. My stomach tightened, hot and cold at once. Meet someone. In my old world, that never meant good.
“You don’t have to,” he added quickly, hands loose, his voice careful, like he could feel the storm already brewing under my skin. “Only if you’re up for it.”
I swallowed hard, the taste of metal searing at the back of my tongue. Forced my chin down in a nod. “Yeah. Okay.”
But my chest was already tight, because the memory of last night slammed into me again—his body caging mine against the wall, his mouth hovering over mine, his words scraping me raw:When I take you… there won’t be stoppin’ me.My skin still buzzed with it, every nerve alive like I’d been lit from the inside out. And now he wanted me to meet someone.
Was it another woman?
Men in the circle often had many vessels. I prayed many nights Gabrial would, but he never seemed to tire of me. My pulse tripped hard, faster than my breath could keep up.
The door creaked open, hinges whining, and a woman stepped inside.
She wasn’t what I expected.
Tall, but not imposing. Her dress was plain, blue cotton that brushed her calves. Her silver hair—same shade as Zeke’s—was pulled back into a braid, and her face, lined by years, was still striking. Pretty in a way that had nothing to do with vanity.
Her eyes found me first. Blue, steady, piercing. A gaze that stripped layers away without cruelty, but without hesitation either.
Then she smiled, it wasn’t polite, and it wasn’t practiced. It was real.
“This her?” she asked, her voice sure, but her gaze never left me.
“Yeah,” Zeke said, and there was something threaded in his tone I hadn’t heard before—pride. “This is Sable. And those are her kids, Zara and Malik.”
The woman stepped forward and held out her hand. My fingers twitched, hesitation digging claws in me, every instinct screaming not to reach. But I did.
“I’m Miriam, this one’s Momma,” she said, looking at Zeke.
Her skin was warm, her grip strong. Not bruising, not testing, just… firm. A hand that told me she wouldn’t let go easy. The kind of grip I’d never had from another woman. My palm tingled even after she let go, nerves sparking like I’d been branded.
